From the greek: chronos
by otomriddle
Summary: As he watched him leave, Tom thought he, too, liked the boy.
1. 1938

_**Disclaimer** : none of the characters are mine etc._

* * *

Tom was a quiet boy. He had always been quiet, silent, mute - Mrs. Cole went as far as to call him "shy".

He wasn't shy. He was _quiet_.

The noises of the outside world didn't really bother him, because in his mind there was silence. He could find peace and solitude within himself with the same easiness someone recollected a piece of memory.

That was an ability he has had since he could remember. He had always wondered if it had something to do with his _other_ abilities – a boy who could talk to snakes and run away to his mind.

When Dumbledore explained to him the nature of his powers – their extent – he was inclined to believe in that truth. The old man was everything Tom wished to become one day: powerful, respectable, wise, and quiet.

"Maybe that is that," the boy said to himself, one night before visiting Diagon Alley, unable to close his eyes without his mind bursting with wild scenarios. "All wizards are intelligent and powerful. And silent.".

Diagon Alley wasn't silent, thought.

The place seemed to shake with energy, colors, and noises. There were many wizards screaming for discounts, witches announcing exotic goods, owls shifting in their cages anxiously. For some reason, all those eyes seemed to follow Tom as he passed – a little lost boy finding his own way through a crowd, no one by his side.

He was used to it, he remembered telling Dumbledore.

Tom managed to find every item in his list, although most were well worn-down - the only ones he could afford with the money he had received from school. The only money he had.

He was used to it, also.

The only thing remaining before he could go back to the Orphanage was the thing he had been most excited about: a wand.

Tom entered a little shop – one he nearly missed among brighter, bigger sellers. There was an old man with gray hair close to the counter, muttering to himself while he browsed through what seemed endless shelves. In front of him, two figures stood stoic: a tall woman, with blonde hair so long it went well past her waist, and a blond boy around Tom's age.

"Ah, here it is!" the old man said suddenly, turning in a swift moment and placing a rectangular box in front of the two.

The boy stepped forward, taking a long black wand in his hands. As soon as he lifted it, colorful bubbles came out of the tip. He looked up at the woman, smiling brightly.

"Finally!" She said with a smile and a sigh.

"Ah, very good, very good," The old man shook his head repeatedly. "Aspen, with a dragon core. Flexible. Yes, a good choice. It's 7 galeons, if you please."

Tom was waiting in the shadows, observing. The blond boy, seeming oblivious to his presence, started shaking his new wand, making sparks and bubbles around the store.

"Well, dear boy, you may now approach." The old man said suddenly, and both Tom and the other child jumped slightly. His attention was once more drawn to the counter, where the seller had been watching him.

The boy walked to place the woman had been previously, pulling his hands nervously.

"Let's go, dear." He heard the woman say behind him, near the door.

"No, mom! He saw mine! I want to see his." The boy replied, somewhere at his back.

Tom fought the urge to role his eyes.

Spoiled child.

"You're here to buy a wand, of course. I'm Mr. Ollivander, your wand-maker," the old man said, his eyes on the shelves again. Out of nowhere came a flying tape-measure, circling him around while it did its job. A ghost of a smile spread across his lips while he stretch his arms and straightened his back.

"Here, try this one!" Ollivander said, placing a box much like the one he had just sold on the counter. His eyes, though, were still on the shelves, always searching.

"Try it?" Tom asked, eyeing the box with a frown.

"Yes, try it. Shake it around, see what happens. You know, of course, the wizard doesn't choose the wand! One can't simply waltz in my shop and expect to point me the wand they want," Ollivander replied, laughing at some private joke. "No, the wand chooses the wizard."

Tom agreed and, holding his breath, pulled a thin wand out the box; but nothing happened. He shook it, but still to no avail. Ollivander, who had shot a glance over his shoulder to watch him, muttered a "no" under his breath and started searching again.

"Maybe this one!" The man continued, placing yet another box in front of the boy.

Again Tom pulled a wand out of it, and again not a move did it stir.

Ollivander's smile grew wider as he pushed box after box in his direction, and wand after wand denied him. Tom, on the other hand, was starting to feel nervous. He looked around only to realize the previous family was still at the store, watching. In silence.

He felt his neck burn in embarrassment.

"This one is a very, very good one. It took me days to craft. Try it," Ollivander said, placing a new box – the dustiest of them all – on the counter. Next to it, an unstable pile had been gathering. "It's made of yew, with a core of phoenix feather – amazing creatures, they are. Unyielding, 13 ¹/² inches long. Indeed, very good."

Tom sighed. He thought about ending torture, maybe coming another day. But, he realized, there would be no other day. Mrs. Cole wouldn't give him any more free time until the 1st of September. So, with a heavy sigh, Tom went for the wand.

He knew he had been chosen even before he touched the wood. He could feel warmth up through his arm, sparks in his finger. As he raised it, the wand shone brighter than any lamp, showing its approval.

"Oh, wonderful!" Ollivander congratulated him, clapping his hands. Behind him, he heard the boy exclaiming a loud "wow".

Tom smiled.

After he left the store, he felt a set of eyes following him. The boy looked over his shoulder, only to be met with two very blue iris.

"Hi!" The boy from the store said, very close to his face. Tom jumped back slightly, surprised with the unnexpected poximity.

"Uhm… Hi." He answered with a nod. He started walking again.

"My name's Malfoy. Abraxas Malfoy. And yours?" The boy asked, falling into his pace.

"Tom Riddle."

" _Tom Riddle?_ " Abraxas said, tilting his head. "That's not a wizard name."

"Well, Abraxas is not even _a name_ _itself_." He replied, raising one eyebrow. "Where's your mother, _Abraxas?_ "

"Wow, you're sensitive about names, aren't you?" The blond said, raising his hands. "My mom is at Borgins & Burkes, although she thinks I don't know about that. It's a dark magic store, you know? Very dangerous."

"I see." Tom agreed, even if he didn't know. He had no idea there was magic until a few days ago, let alone dark magic. They were close to the Leaky Caldron now, and to Tom's exit.

"What about yours?" Abraxas asked suddenly, bumping their shoulder.

"Mine what?" Tom replied, furrowing his eyebrows as he eyed the other. He put some distance between them.

"Your mother." He elaborated, rolling his eyes.

"Oh," The boy said, shaking his head. "She is… In Paris. With my dad. They're in vacations. They trust me to buy my things alone."

"Really?" Abraxas's eyes widened. "This is very nice. My mom doesn't let me do _anything_ on my own. It's such an inconvenience."

"I imagine." Tom came to a stop in front of the Leaky Caldron. He looked at Abraxas with a tight smile. "This is where we part ways. Nice to meet you, _Abraxas_ _Malfoy_."

"Well, nice to meet you too, _Tom Riddle._ I hope you get into Slytherin – it's where I'm going, the best House in all of Hogwarts!" The boy confided, hands on hips. "But maybe you should talk more. You're very quiet. But I like that. Goodbye!" He completed, shaking one hand in Tom's direction.

As he watched him leave, Tom thought he, too, liked the boy.


	2. 1939

"It's oh so very boring in here, Tom." Abraxas whispered, his feet tapping the ground impatiently. They were inside what resembled a long corridor, surrounded by impossible high shelves full of books. In the middle of the place, there was an equally long table where sat Abraxas and Tom, one across the other. There were only more two people with them, both Gryffindors sitting in the opposite end of the table, so far away they could barely see each other. Tom sighed heavily.

"I told you one hour ago, Abraxas. You can _leave_." He replied, his eyes following the lines from the ancient book he had been reading.

"But I don't want to be alone…" Abraxas whined, his feet tapping faster. Tom set his jaw.

"You know we have a Potions' test coming soon. We need to study," Riddle shot a glance to his friend. " _I_ need to study."

It was Abraxas's turn to sigh. He pulled one book from his friend's pile and opened it, attempting to read. His foot, thought, was still moving, which caused the table to shake slightly – not much, but enough to bother Tom.

The boy tried to shake his annoyance off, but it refused to go. He knew he was being difficult; he knew he had been acting up lately for no reason at all; most importantly, he knew his friend didn't really deserve the treatment he had been receiving. And yet. There he was, bothered beyond himself with a shaking leg.

"Can you please, _please_ , stop this?" Tom's voice was high, which caused an impatient 'sush' to come from the other end of the table. He ignored it.

"Stop what?" Abraxas furrowed his eyebrows.

"Your leg, it won't stop shaking! It's beyond annoying! If you're so bored, just fucking leave! I'm not asking you to stay, am I? In fact, I repeatedly asked you to leave!"

Abraxas looked at him, blinking repeatedly. After a long moment of silence, he shook his head as he grabbed his things, shoving them in his backpack as quickly as he could.

Tom, who had pretended to go back to the book, risked a look at Abraxas. His friend's eyes were glistening with unshed tears, his mouth shut in a thin line. Something heavy set on the bottom of Tom's stomach. Biting his lips, he started:

"Abraxas…"

"No," Malfoy interrupted, one hand raised. His eyes were on his nearly full backpack. "You said I should leave, so I'm leaving."

A sudden movement at the other side of the table made them look. The gryffindors had just left with heavy steps and annoyed glances over their shoulders.

Abraxas was about to follow them when Tom jumped to his feet, grabbing his wrist.

"Look, I'm sorry, alright?" His voice came as a whisper, but it stopped Abraxas in his track, just as he knew it would.

In all the time they knew each other, Tom had never once apologized. Not that he had never been in the wrong before, but he would never say sorry for it. That was simply how he was wired. Everyone has that completely irrational something that everyone knows about.

Dorea was afraid of ghosts.

Abraxas hated peas.

Tom never said sorry.

Until now.

"You're sorry for what?" Malfoy inquired, still half facing Tom. Still about to leave. The boy tilted his head, pressing his mouth.

"You will make me say it, won't you?" Tom wondered aloud, and saw a ghost of a smile play in Abraxas mouth.

"Yes." He answered, nodding.

"I am sorry for being unnecessarily rude and mean to you." The boy practically quoted in a monotone.

"And for not appreciating my company!" Abraxas completed, smiling and facing his friend. Tom rolled his eyes, letting go of the other's wrists.

"I did appreciate your company. Only in a quieter way." He replied, sitting once again. Abraxas followed his movements.

"Yes, you do that a lot. I told you, you should speak more!"

"People already hate my quiet self, Abraxas. If I speak, it will only make things worse." Tom shrugged, once again setting eyes on the yellowish pages of the book.

"Is that why you're so…?" Malfoy didn't finish, instead simply gestured to Tom, who raised an eyebrow. "I mean, you've been acting tense and angry for a while now."

Tom didn't answer, instead choosing to turn the page, thus ending a conversation he didn't want to have.

The thing was: Tom was considered a gifted student because he could recite the right answers to the right questions; he could logically come up with resolution to problems; he could bring new lights to old dilemmas. But even thought he agreed with those who called him brilliant, he couldn't understand those who overlooked Abraxas Malfoy. He didn't know all the answers, true, but he had this intuition, this easiness to _read_ people – it was a gift just as much as Tom's intelligence.

And that was why he had been avoiding his friend for a while now.

Riddle was angry. Very angry. With how he had become an outcast in a world he was supposed to be safe. With how everyone around him had money and families and good names while he had nothing. With his teachers treating him kindly solely because he was _that child_. And, above all else, he was angry with Abraxas Malfoy.

His loyal friend, who had everything he could wish for, and still befriend the weird boy with muggle name. Why did he do it? Couldn't he hear the whispers in the dorms? Was he deaf to the laughing in the class? How long would he endure that until he, too, left?

At the same time Tom wanted him far away, he was so afraid to lose his friendship. At the same time he wanted so badly to talk about all that, he dreaded the mere thought of the talk.

So he tried to keep Abraxas at some distance, to stop him from reading his fears way too well.

"I know you don't like to talk about your feelings, but it could help." Abraxas's voice yanked Tom from his thoughts.

"Or it could make things worse." He replied, smirking. He was still avoiding his friend's eyes.

"Tom, honestly, communication is the key to all and every relationship!" Abraxas said, leaning over the table eagerly. This time, Tom fully smiled.

"That sounds like something your mother would say." At this, Malfoy blushed.

"Well, maybe she did say that…" He mumbled, looking at the table with sudden interest. "But it doesn't make it less true. Please, talk to me!"

Tom looked at him for a long moment, the two parts of him – the one who trusted and the one who hated Abraxas – battling inside his mind. Eventually, one won.

"Very well." He agreed.

And he told all the things which had been bothering him – and then some more.

"So, you're a mudbl-" Abraxas started, but Tom raised a hand.

"I'm a half-blood!" He corrected, his voice shaking in the end.

"Yes, sorry, sorry," Malfoy agreed, shaking his head repeatedly. Then, after a beat. "You're a half-blood, who lives in a muggle orphanage. That's why you use hand-me-downs… Because you're, hm, you are… Er…" Abraxas fought to find a word, his face getting redder and redder as time passed by. Tom rolled his eyes.

"Of all things, you're more embarrassed with the fact I am poor?" He asked, crossing his arms.

"No!" Abraxas denied, raising a hand. "I'm not embarrassed or anything. I just don't know if you feel… Alright with me using this word."

"Abraxas, I _am_ poor. You can use the word that best describes my current situation without fear."

"Very well. Very well. So," Abraxas started again, straightening his back. "You're poor, and looking for your wizard father – who may or may not know about you," Tom nodded in agreement. "And you're also angry because… I am your friend?!"

The boy sighed, pulling his hand through his hair.

"I am angry because people think you're my friend out of pity, and because none of them care about me – thanks to all these things I just told you, that they already suspect." Tom explained slowly, tapping his finger in the table after every few words. Abraxas scratched his head, but agreed nonetheless.

"I see," After a pause, he continued. "Well, I can't really make the others see how amazing and nice you are, Tom," At this, his friend laughed. "But I may be able to help you find your father. You know my family is very ancient, so we have many books and documents about the magic community. I bet we can find something about him there!"

Tom's eyes widened.

"You would do that for me?" He inquired. Abraxas looked down at his hands smiling.

"Yes, for you, I would."


	3. 1940

Hogwarts hadn't seen a day of rain in the past two weeks, reason for why Slytherin's Quidditch Captain didn't think twice before booking the camp for a Saturday, when the selection for the new team would take place.

As fate would have it, Saturday came and it was pouring rain before lunch time.

Tom was looking at the magically altered sky in the Great Hall gloomily, raindrops quickly failing over his head.

"Brax, in a scale of one to ten, how much do you _actually_ want to attend the selection?"

"Why, Tom, it's a ten, obviously! You know I've been waiting for this since we entered Hogwarts. It took me two years to convince father. It won't be a little rain-"

"A big rain."

"A _little rain_ that will stop me." Abraxas completed, mouthing a large piece of pumpkin pie.

Tom sighed, shaking his head and pushing the food on his plate from one side to the other. He had promised to accompany his friend to the selection about three weeks ago, but that was when he thought it would make a sunny day.

A thunder sounded outside, and Tom sighed again.

"You know, Tom," Abraxas started to say, furrowing his eyebrows. "If you want to stay, I'll understand. I mean, you don't even like Quidditch…"

"I said I would go with you, didn't I?" Tom replied, rolling his eyes. "If we are doing this, we better get going, or else we'll be late." He completed, getting up. Abraxas followed his moves, shoving the rest of the pie quickly inside his mouth.

" _Yas laft gu_ " He said, mouth full. Tom pulled a face, but remained silent otherwise.

Although there were numerous spell he could think of to stop both from getting soaking wet, he wasn't allowed to cast them on his friend – something Abraxas kept reminding him as they walked the long way to the Quidditch camp.

"It's against the rules, you know. I mean, glasses are one thing, but the clothes…"

Tom tuned out, nodding every once in a while but ignoring the content of the speech. He obviously knew Quidditch's rules, a sport that most of his classmates were fond of. Tom himself didn't see much fun in it – a bunch of people, flying dangerously on pieces of wood after some balls; the game was as stupid as it had sounded the first time he heard about it. However, Abraxas loved the sport, he thought he could even go professional one day. Tom was of opinion he _couldn't_ , but he preferred to remain quiet every time he brought the subject up.

They finally reached outside, and the force of the wind made both boys lose their balances for moment was they held their robes tighter. Tom suppressed a groan, wishing Slytherin's captain would have the common sense of calling off the selection when faced with a literal storm. It was a vain hope, he knew, since the Captain himself was as stupid as a troll, but that thought accompanied him through the rain that soaked himself and Abraxas.

As expected, the selection wasn't cancelled. In fact, the Captain seemed even happy about the storm, mumbling about seeing the "true potential" of the candidates – whom, on their turns, seemed to be more miserable than excited.

"Hey, Tom, are you going to try for a position?" A tall sixth-year girl asked, smiling as she tossed him a green towel she had conjured.

"Oh, I had no intention of doing so. You see, I am awful on brooms." He replied, laughing and shaking his head. The boy tried to dry himself as best as he could with the small towel but, realizing he was drenched beyond repair, handed it to Abraxas, who was next to him.

"No, you just _have_ to try it! I bet you could be a great seeker!" The girl said, pulling a bag off the ground and proceeding to look inside it eagerly.

"It's truth. You have this small frame that would make you extremely fast once in a nice broom," A boy, who Tom though was a fifth-year, agreed with the girl, grabbing Tom's shoulder tightly. He was much bigger than him, with shoulders broad enough to nearly unfit the protection equipment he had on. "Today I won't be flying, so I could lend you my Nimbus for the selection. What do you think?"

Tom smiled, shaking his head as he tried to escape the boy's strong grip.

"No, really, I shouldn't-"

"Found it!" The girl exclaimed, her head snapping out of the bag she had been scrutinizing moments before. "Here, take these glasses. They have a waterproof spell on it, so you won't suffer much during the selection. Hey, Lucaon! Tom's gonna try for the seeker position…" The girl screamed after the Captain, leaving Tom dumbfounded, the glasses still hanging in his hand.

"Nice! You will really enjoy Quidditch, Tom. I will bring you my Nimbus, you wait here! Don't you dare leave." The boy said over his shoulder, already exiting the tent where the candidates were waiting.

Tom blinked a couple of times, completely lost on what to do. The boy wasn't being modest when he said he didn't know how to ride a broom very well. During his first year he nearly got himself _and the teacher_ killed in his flying class. If he were already a danger in perfect weather, he could only imagine what would happen were he to fly during a storm.

Tom shook his head, thinking on what to do. He was going to simply accompany Abraxas in his selection, cheer for him during it and then cheer him up once he didn't make the cut – because he definitely wouldn't, if he were planning to fly the way Tom knew he did.

Reminded of the presence of his friend at the thought, Tom turned his head to where he should be, expecting a word of comfort, but instead realized he was alone – Abraxas was nowhere to be seen. Tom wondered if he had been called for the selection, but it didn't seem likely, since all the others who were going to try for the Keeper position, the one Abraxas was aiming for, were still inside the tent. The boy sighed again, feeling his head starting to throb. He could leave the tent and hide until the end of the selection, but that would mean to indispose himself with two older house mates – three, if he counted the Captain, who seemed pumped to see so many candidates for the team.

Tom was biting his fingernails, still unsure on what to do, when the tall girl came back, talking loudly about the wind's speed and how it would affect his broom. She grabbed his arm with surprising strength and led him outside, where the other boy waited for him with a pitch black broom on his hand.

"There you are, Tom! Here, this is my broom. You don't need to worry much about damaging it, since my father just bought me a spare one. Go there and do your best!" He nearly screamed, so to be heard over the sound of the rain pouring. Tom smiled brightly and nodded his head, feeling utterly lost.

The boy walked to the middle of the camp, where a couple of other classmates were waiting, already shaking and wet to the bones.

Tom looked around one more time, hoping to spot Abraxas, but still to no avail. His friend had simply vanished. The boy wondered if perhaps Abraxas was feeling envious. Quidditch had always been _his_ thing, in the same way that studying was _Tom's_ thing; maybe, he thought, Abraxas felt like he was losing something to his friend. That realization made him all the more depressed.

"Hello, candidates!" The Captain greeted, flying down to where they were with a big smile and a loud thump as he landed in front of them. "We will start the Seeker's selection now. When I blow this whistle, you will get on your brooms and try to get this!" He pulled a small golden globe out of his robes, its little wings agitating themselves on his hand. The Captain gave a few steps back, released the Snitch on the air and, as soon as it was out of sight, blew the whistle.

Tom mounted the broom, shaking the wet hair out of his face as his feet left the ground. He wondered if he had a gift for divination, because he simply _knew_ things would go sour very soon.

Tom rose as high as he dared, worrying about the lightning that would every once in a while cross the sky. The other candidates were hidden inside the heavy rain, and Tom could hear nothing but the sound of water running. He wondered again what he should do. He thought about waiting for one of his classmates to catch the Snitch and end the selection, but they had seemed just as lost as him, so the boy figured it could take a very long time for that to happen. And Tom knew that, the more he stayed away from the ground, the worse the landing would be.

Another lightning hit the sky, and suddenly Tom had an idea.

He was about to suffer an accident.

The boy could even imagine it. The unfortunate student who, while looking for the Snitch, was unlucky enough to be struck by lightning, causing him to be taken out of the camp; and then, because of the trauma, the poor boy could no longer try for the team.

Tom smiled.

A little voice inside his head wondered if he should really let a lightning struck him, but that idea was soon discarded. No, he didn't need a true lightning. What he needed was –

Tom suddenly opened his eyes. Everything around him seemed to be spinning, and he blinked repeatedly, trying to understand what had happened. The boy was sure he had been outside in the Quidditch selection, however, he was now somewhere warm and dry. The boy turned his head, his bones cracking as he moved. After a moment, he was able to recognize that high ceiling and stone walls. He was in the Infirmary.

Something moved in his left, and Tom was met with Abraxas's blue eyes – only now they were reddish, as if he had been crying not long ago.

"Tom!" He saw the words form on his friend's lips, but they were only faintly heard. Abraxas threw himself over him, and Tom mumbled in pain. "Oh, I am so sorry!" Abraxas said right next to his ear as he pulled himself up.

Tom felt as if his chest had been ran over by horse. The room was still spinning, and he felt as if he had water inside his ears, being unable to understand exactly what Abraxas was saying to him.

"Abraxas, I can't hear you very well. Can you please speak louder?" Tom said, and felt a chill through his spine when even his voice sounded far away. He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to sit on the bed. His friend grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly and keeping him in place.

"It's alright, Tommy," This time, he was able to hear Abraxas clearly. He wondered if his friend was nearly yelling, and the thought made him smile. "It's only a temporary effect, your difficulty to hear… You know what happened?" He shook his head, regretting the movement immediately after as the world started to spin faster. "You were struck by lightning. Well, both you and the Captain were. Dippet is beyond angry with Slughorn for not calling off the selection. You should've seen their faces as they brought you both here!"

For a moment, Tom thought Abraxas was going to laugh, but then tears started to stream down his face. Tom watched his friend copiously cry with wide eyes, both of them not uttering a word.

"What's wrong, Brax? Were you that scared?" Tom asked after a long moment, his fingers intertwined with his friend's.

"Yes, I was. When they pulled you outside the camp, your eyes were open, but you weren't moving at all. I thought you…" the tears that had stopped threatened to fall again, and Abraxas shook his head, cleaning his face with the back of his free hand. "And then I thought: I can't believe Tom is going to die here, and I was angry at him because he was giving attention to other people instead of me."

Tom blinked twice, and then started to laugh, his ears ringing with the movement.

"I can't believe that's why you disappeared on me, Abraxas." He said, still laughing.

"You know how I am. I don't like it when I'm not the center of attention." Abraxas pulled a face, resting his head next to Tom's.

"No, you don't like it when you're not the center of _my_ attention." Tom corrected, and his friend's only response was a sigh.

 _Well_ , Tom thought to himself, _seems everything worked just fine_.

Abraxas sighed again, and Tom smiled.


End file.
